Legend of Eru Iluvatar
by Ombre Rose
Summary: AU Long ago, an ancient prophecy predicted the birth of a creature that would one day descend upon the universe and destroy all forms of existence. In an effort to prevent the Earth's final destruction, came a story about the child who holds the key to the fate of the world, and one man who would be the one to change it.


**Author's Note: **_There are a few things I want to address first before we move on to my new story, so bear with me, please._

_Firstly, this is actually a rewrite. The story was previously written under a different title and pen name. However, that account somehow got locked (or something) since I can no longer log in using my old email and password. So the story is, unfortunately, still available on __. But because I made MAJOR changes to the entire plot, one might not recognize the old one even if you've read it six years ago. It was never finished. This time I have every intention of finishing it._

_The second thing is the plot for this story is based loosely on the game called Legend of Dragoon. I was introduced to it many years ago by my sister, who is a PS aficionado and instantly liked the concept. Hence, there would be some similarities, for instance, the names Moon Child, Divine Moon and Divine Tree, all of which came directly from the game._

_Thirdly, the name "Eru Iluvatar" was shamelessly borrowed from J.R.R. Tolkien's book called The Silmarillion. For the life of me, I tried coming up with a name for the God in my story and the best I could come up with was "Quisolest", which in a way translates to "He That Is Alone" in Latin. I just… I just couldn't. My brain isn't made for creativity, except to simply borrow ideas and names and translate all of that into writing. Can I get points for that at least? _

_Finally, Kenshin is NOT the sweet and gentle rurouni we all know and love so much. For the sake of this story, he is Battousai. There would be character developments to explain how he came to be the way he is, but fret not, I don't intend to stray away from his true Battousai-like personality as it was written in the manga/anime._

_I think that's enough of a heads-up for now. Let's get on with the story, shall we?_

* * *

**Legend of Eru Iluvatar  
**By Ombre Rose

* * *

_**Prologue**_

_- Raining Blood –_

* * *

_They said I am not a man, but a demon._

_They were right._

**I**

In a world where great power and magic existed, there came a story of an ancient legend, a legend that spoke of the last species born from the all-powerful Divine Tree.

Planted on the barren earth by its creator Sin one thousand years ago, it was believed to be the origin of all life. Bearing 108 fruits, they ripened and fell to the ground, giving rise to a new breed of species and filling the earth with life. However, during the height of the Wingly Empire, a prophecy came to pass that the last and 108th fruit of the Divine tree would birth a creature that would one day descend upon the earth with the power to destroy all forms of existence and bring about the end of the world.

It was given the name _Eru Iluvatar_, God of Destruction.

For over hundreds of years, the story of an apocalypse haunted the minds of mankind. Thus, in an effort to prevent the world's final destruction, powerful magical beings known as the Winged Ones bounded the 108th fruit to the sky, sealing and plunging it into an eternal sleep using three magical objects called the Trigons. Through this, the Divine Moon was formed. Unaffected by the winds of time, it hung in the heavens above day and night as the Moon That Never Sets.

But the _Eru Iluvatar's_ power was far too great for suppression. Although sealed in magic, its soul continued to wander the Earth, hoping to return to its physical flesh that was sealed in the Divine Moon, to be rightfully born as the last god and to destroy the world. It was a transmigration that happened only once every 108 years, of which it would possess the body of a human child, the _Moon child_, born as the seventh month dies until the day both its soul and body finally reunite as one living god.

So for every 108 years, the Divine Moon would glow red in the sky, an omen that represented the birth of a new moon child, chosen guardian of the _Eru Iluvatar_. And as it draws its first breath and releases the lusty cry of a new-born, the wheels of destiny would begin to toll. It would taste power – the richness of it, and the bitterness. Guided by destiny, the child would be the one to open the gates of hell, bringing forth a new era more petrifying than death itself.

There was, however, another side to this story, one that was centered on a mortal being known only as _Battousai. _Emerging from the shadows of the earth, he appeared in various urban myths as a vicious killer, an evil plague that rejects peace of the world. Rumored to have demonic blood, it was whispered that he was called upon by the _Eru Iluvatar _itself. Born of the fires of hell, he slew all who dared cross his path and struck fear and terror in the hearts of many through his endless and merciless killings. Thus, the story was eventually passed on that as the blood of the Moon That Never Sets hanged in the night sky every 108 years, so did blood spill onto the world.

The time of a new tragedy is approaching. The one who holds the key to the fate of the world, and the one would change it, has come again.

**II**

_9th Red moon_  
_8th month, third day_

A storm was brewing that night.

Wet broken pebbles scrunched as one set of shallow prints trailed closely behind a lone dark figure before they were quickly doused away by mucky puddles. Overhead the night yawned like a foul wind, howling through the thick treetops with bolts of lightning flashing menacingly across the sky and illuminating the stark landscape below. The sound of thunder came in on cue only when it remembered. A curtain of rain had begun to beat down from the heavens, sweeping it heavily over him as he continued to advance down the charcoal path in the gloom. Around him was a dark field of tough pasture lined with huge, broad-leaved trees, lending the string of dead earth to the muddy piles of yellow leaves.

On the other end of the path, a carriage was approaching, making its way quickly through the night and rocking dangerously in the violent winds. From where he remained hidden in the shadows, it rumbled through the narrow road as it moved in almost complete isolation from its surroundings. A lone lamp swinging precariously back and forth on the side of the box was a stark yellow circle in the distance. Curls of white mist were visible in the beam, rising and falling. In the front sat a single driver.

He moved swiftly now, his face a blur, closing the distance between him and the moving carriage. His nimble footsteps along with the steady plunging rain echoed down the deserted road as he broke into a sprint, his target up ahead. There was a faintest hint of shiny metal near the belt.

He was coming.

* * *

The moon was imprisoned beneath a thick blanket of grey. No stars, no sky. Only darkness was present. A cold wind blew out of the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things. They were foreboding beneath the incipient thunderstorm, yet Koshijirou Kamiya forged ahead.

He cracked his whip in the air, propelling the horses into a full gallop and forcing their hoofs to strike a splatter of filth from the rocky trail. The sprays of rain like volleys of sharp arrows rattled gustily against the top of the small carriage and hit him full in the face. For half a moon, he led it racing down a Sarian road a hundred years old and into the wildering darkness of the forest, where the leaves made a black canopy high above them, and the trunks of the trees were as wide as city gates. Unguarded and exposed, they were forced to succumb to the eerie deceiving grasp of the shadows.

The whip in his hand plied more vigorously every moment on the horses' backs. There was an edge to the twilight that was making his hackles rise. He could feel it rising in him; a nervous tension that came perilous close to fear. A large part of him wanted nothing so much as to ride hellbent for the village of which they left, but it was no longer a safe place. No one was safe, not on a night when the Moon That Never Sets glowed red in the sky.

For a fleeting moment, he saw movement ahead. A dark shape gliding through the woods, and suddenly it was gone. Branches stirred violently in the rain, scratching at one another with wooden fingers. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it had been a bird, a reflection from the flash of lightning above, some trick of the moonlight that seeped through the grey clouds. What had he seen, after all?

Then, swiftly out of the blur, the shadow seemed to _fly_ at him.

Stunned, his hands snapped at the reins on reflex, causing the carriage to veer off the path. It careened out of control, swaying precariously to the side and skidding against the mud on two wheels. As it ran up over a large rock, it unsettled the balance and sent it tumbling onto its side.

The impact threw him off the vehicle. As he hit the muddy ground, he let himself roll from the force of the fall before slowing to a stop. He lifted his head and pressed the heel of his palm to his brow, feeling the jagged cut above his right eye and blood running down the side of his face. Wiping it off, he blinked away the raindrops that fell into his eyes. He tried to picture what he'd seen before the crash. The only image he could come up with was one that was of a man, but that'd be impossible. There was no way a man could fly the way it did, or with such incredible speed.

Koshijirou surveyed his surroundings. Through all the red in his line of vision, he saw the overturned carriage. The right side of it had been completely smashed as it had rolled earlier when he lost control of the horses. There was the muffled sound of a pathetic wail piercing through the storm, and he felt his blood freeze in his veins.

His wife and child were in that carriage.

"Keiko!"

With a groan, he pushed himself up to his feet and hurried over. He dropped to his knees as he peered into the wreckage, but the entrance was blocked by a dislodged bench. With his thoughts thronging in a panic haste, he clawed at the mangled piece of wood, attempting to create a hole into the broken vehicle.

"Keiko!" he yelled again, fear rising in his voice. "Keiko, can you hear me?"

The only sound he heard in reply, however, was the rain beating heavily against his back, the frantic whining of the horses, and the unrelenting cries of a child. Every breath from his lips seemed overloud, reverberating in the rain, reminding him that he wasn't hearing the same sounds from the woman trapped beneath the shattered carriage. Then, as he carefully moved a seat that had turned sideways, he saw her. She was terrifyingly still, but her head didn't appear to be stuck in an unnatural position, and he didn't see any blood.

"Keiko!" He continued to tear away a broken piece of wood, desperate to open the hole wide enough to pull her through. Reaching out to grasp her hand, his fingers found her pulse beating steadily under them. He was preparing to give another piece of wood a hard yank when her fingers tightened around his wrist. His eyes flew to her pale face, just in time to see her shift and her eyes winced against the pain.

"Koshijirou?"

Relief flooded his chest so quickly it was almost painful. "I'm here," he calmly reassured her. "Are you and the baby all right?"

She looked down to the tiny bundle she cradled protectively in her arms and nodded weakly. "Yes, we're fine." Letting out a little cough, she asked, "What happened?"

"There was something in the woods. I think we are being followed."

"Followed?" she asked; bewilderment and dismay was in her voice. "Who's following us?"

"I don't know." He slid both of his arms in and took a hold of hers. "Let's get you and the baby out. Grab onto my arm."

"Take the baby first. I'll–" She stopped short; the words seemed to freeze in her throat as her eyes looked beyond him. A sudden sense of fear ran through her nerves like the chill of an icy wind.

"Koshijirou, behind you," she whispered.

In a kind of confused astonishment, he turned around.

A lone dark figure stood stock-still before him. He wore black leather boots, black woollen pants and a black, sable cloak. In the rain they clung to his lean body like a layer of skin. The cowl of his cape, thick and heavy, was pulled up over his head, leaving his face in complete shadow. A bolt of lightning raged in fury high above in the night sky, providing Koshijirou a second of light to catch a quick glimpse of the stranger's face.

Amber eyes reflected.

His heart stopped in his chest and he dared not breathe. Somehow he knew those pair of golden eyes would forever haunt him with a chill and unearthly foreboding.

"What do you want?" he asked.

For a long moment, the man said and did nothing. He was silent, standing before them like a slight statuesque figure. Then, all of a sudden his sword came shivering through the air, and there was the sound of metal clashing with the rain.

"Koshijirou!"

With a gasp of surprise, Koshijirou drew his own sword from his belt and met it with steel. There was no ring of metal on metal; only a high, thin sound at the edge of hearing, like an animal screaming in pain. He checked a second blow and a third, then fell back a step. Another flurry of blows, and he fell back once more. Again and again their swords met. He panted from the effort, his breath steaming in the moonlight rain.

With the speed of lightning, the other man sailed above him, his sword drawn and deadly. Wasting a breath on a curse, Koshijirou faltered briefly until the jolt of terror gave new impetus to his flying feet, but his parry came a beat too late. The man's sword bit through his side beneath his arm, causing him cry out in pain. He stumbled back, his fingers brushing at his side. His glove came away soaked with red and blood was seeping through his clothes. Koshijirou looked to the man again. His silhouette seemed to swim in a sort of blurred mist before his eyes as the rain continued its vicious downpour.

"What in God's name are you doing?" he yelled over the thundering storm.

The man's hood shadowed his face, but Koshijirou could see the hard glitter in his eyes as he looked at him with a bland, expressionless stare. Another cold wind whispered through the trees and his great sable cloak stirred behind like something half-alive. Silently, he assumed a stance of a trained swordsman, ready to strike once again.

Defiant to fight for his life, Koshijirou tightened his grip on his sword with both hands. They trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the freezing rain, or the loss of blood. Yet in that moment, he told himself that he could not die here.

Releasing a battle cry, he lifted the blade and swung it around in a flat sidearm slash with all his weight behind it. To his frustration, the man's parry was almost lazy. In one quick manoeuvre, his sword sliced through Koshijirou's defences, metal meeting flesh. Feeling the skin between his shoulders ripped beneath the cutting edge of the sword, he fell to his knees, biting back pain. Cold seared his lungs with every gasping breath, and the rain was thick and treacherous underfoot.

"Why?" he muttered on a short breath. "Why are you doing this?"

The man halted. Koshijirou saw his eyes again; amber, bright and more golden than any human eyes, a gold that burned like fire. They fixed on his pain-stricken ones. For a heartbeat he dared to hope, but the feeling was instantly doused away as the man let his blade loose once more and came at him in an onslaught. On survival reflex, he leaped out of the way. Swinging his sword out with all his might, it sliced through the rain on a miss. Before he even had a second to react, the amber-eyed monster vanished from his line of sight with a godly speed he had never witnessed before.

_No…_

It was too late. The man was instantly behind him and his blade came slashing through him in one powerful movement. Suddenly, there was pain and only pain. Koshijirou laid crushed beneath the fearful weight and burden of the pain that rolled over him in pulsing waves. He opened his eyes to see the legs of his killer, the overturned carriage—and blood, so much blood, spattered over every surface that his circle of vision could encompass. The icy water from the ground stung his cheeks and a sense of numbness swept through his body like wild fire. He looked up as the man with the golden eyes stood over him, and saw that there was blood lining one side of his face in a clean cut.

Death, even before it was delivered to him, was a bitter taste in his throat, metallic and hard. It scraped his flesh like a knife, choking and squeezing, pulling the air from his very lungs. The man's blade descended upon him in a killing blow, and its touch was icy cold.

Trapped beneath the broken carriage, Keiko felt a burning sense of dread building up inside her when she could no longer hear the anguished keening of blades clashing. It was as though all the noises were lost in the whistle of air humming by like the flight of a million arrows. The only sound left was the piercing cries of the child buried in her arms.

"Sshh. Hush, little one. Please, please hush," she whispered on a plea. Her ears strained to listen; her heart forced her to pray. Only the rain gave answer: the rustle of wet leaves, the icy rush of the flood pooling underneath the broken carriage, the pounding of the rain.

The man made no sound.

He moved to stand directly in front of the gap in the wreckage and blocked the way out. Lowering himself to the ground, he began reaching in. His outstretched hand sent Keiko's heart pounding with a jackhammer's ferocity. Recoiling in horror, she tried to squirm out of his grasp, but there was no escape. She felt his hand curl tight around her hair, and let out a horrified scream.

Ignoring her violent protests, the man ruthlessly dragged her out from underneath the overturned vehicle before dropping her into the muddy puddle.

Keiko recoiled away in fear, bringing her baby deeper into a protective embrace. Then, she saw her husband, lying deadly still in a pool mixed of blood and rain, and heard her heart shatter to a million pieces. Tears of anguish blurred her vision. Koshijirou was dead, and he died protecting her and their baby. Gripped with a sense of renewed panic and grief, she scrambled to her feet and made a run for it. She had barely made three strides before the man's pale blade sliced through her back as if it were silk. The pain was as sharp as death, and she gasped from the shock of it. She collapsed to the ground with a small splash, her astounded blue eyes wide with an almost bleak intelligence of death.

The man barely afforded her a cold glance before moving towards the wailing child who had fallen out of her arms during her stumble.

"Plea-ase..."

Pausing, he turned around.

Keiko struggled helplessly to her elbows. There was blood dripping from the corner of her pale lips and fresh hot tears coursing down her cheeks like broken floodgates. Even as death awaited her, she desperately clung onto the consciousness that was slowly but surely escaping her. And in her eyes was a fear far greater than that of her own death.

"Ple-ease…" she pleaded. "Plea-ase… do-on't…"

Beneath the shadow of his hood, the man regarded her stonily out of flint-golden eyes. Without saying a single word, he simply stepped back to where she laid with his sword raised slightly away from his body. She let out a choked sob as he loomed over her, his blade lifted high above his head. It fell in a deathly silence. It stabbed through her chest, spilling more of her blood onto the ground. Certain now that she was dead, he treaded back towards his last victim.

He had one more kill to make.

Lying a short distance away, the infant had its hands balled into fists and was kicking the air restlessly, its thin shrill wails echoing through the forest night. As the man griped the blade firmly with two hands and held the tip to its centre, he froze. In that moment when the child blinked its eyes open, he could only stare.

Like jewels gleaming in the moonlight, deep blue eyes gazed back at him from beneath tear-streaked lashes and a shock of raven-coloured hair. It was a girl child, he realized. A girl child with the deepest and bluest eyes he'd had ever seen. Doomed by inexorable fate, his face would be the last face she'd see.

With hooded eyes, he plunged the sword into the baby's heart. Instantly, the sound of crying ceased. He flicked the blood off the steel and sheathed it quickly, emotionlessly staring down at what could possibly be his youngest kill. Then, like shapes breathed on a broken glass and melting away, he disappeared into the night.

Drowsed between the canopies of the trees, the Moon That Never Sets glowed like a red lamp in the sycamore. The pelting of the stormy showers and boom of the thunder grew ever sonorous. It continued to rain blood.


End file.
